The Hollow Men
by Saskatoon
Summary: Jack was already dying when she got bit by a Walker, but instead of dying she is given a second chance at life. How will things be different for the Atlanta survivors when Jack joins their group? What lives might be spared? How might events be altered? And how will a certain Dixon take to his developing feelings for this beautiful but vulnerable girl? Daryl/OC, future smut.
1. Chapter 1

First Walking Dead story. Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please leave a review to let me know!

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Prologue: This is the Way the World Ends...

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_This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper_

T. S. Eliot "The Hollow Men"

Jacklyn was in the hospital when the world ended.

She had been diagnosed with cancer when she was twenty. A tumor, wrapped around her brainstem. It had started with headaches, neck aches, migraines so awful she would nearly pass out. It escalated to full spinal pains, like razors cutting into her vertebrae, and a knot that grew up on the back of her neck. The tumor went from the size of a pea to a golf ball in less than six months. She had lasted two years, undergone chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, even experimental procedures and drugs which had caused her to permanently lose all of her body hair, except, thankfully, the hair on her head. The doctors couldn't explain that, but Jack was relieved. She would hate to be bald and shiny in her coffin.

She was literally on her death bed when chaos broke out in the hallway outside her room.

Shouts. Screams. Cries. And moans. Those were the worst, the moans. Punctuated by gunfire. The smell of burning hair and flesh.

Terror ripped through Jack. She had thought she was beyond terror, that being so close to death made her somehow invulnerable to fear. But she felt fear as she laid in the hospital bed, weak, doped up on morphine. Some instinct, and a fair amount of adrenaline, pushed her to sit up, to pull the IV from her arm, place her feet on the linoleum. The world was spinning, her muscles shook, and her head throbbed despite the cancer ravaging her brain.

She stood up. Her hospital gown crinkled around her legs. She took a step forward, her knees threatening to give out. The world looked wobbly and her heart was beating too rapidly. She wondered if it was happening, if her body was finally giving out. She took another step. Another. The door was closer now, her feet were still moving. Something was scratching on the door.

Jack reached out, one hand grabbing the handle, the other bracing her on the wall. She took a deep breath. A fog was starting to form over her eyes. She pulled the door open and someone fell in on top of her.

It was a nurse, one of the ones that would come by in the afternoons to check on Jack's IV, her saline drip, make sure she was comfortable. But something was different with her. She fell on Jack, hands clawing the linoleum, mouth open, eyes milky and glazed over. The nurse groaned and growled and snapped her jaws in Jack's face.

Jack tried to hold her off, tried to squirm out from beneath her, but she was weak and her arms weren't able to hold the nurse off. Jack's arms gave out and the nurse was on her, teeth sinking into Jack's forearm. And then there was a shot, the nurse slumped, lifeless, over Jack, jaw going slack and releasing her arm.

Jack didn't hesitate. She kicked the nurse off and used the last of her waning strength to push the door closed again. She slumped against it, cradling her injured arm to her chest. Outside the groans, screams and gunshots continued to ring out. Jack listened to it all as darkness settled over her eyes and she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

It was days later when Jack finally awoke. She knew it had been days because of the soreness in her body, the deep muscle bruises that form from lying too long on one side on a hard surface. Unlike when she had passed out, only silence met her ears. There was no screaming, moaning, gunshots in the hall outside.

She hadn't been expecting to wake up, at least not alive. She sat up and stretched. Her muscles were still weak. She had lost too much weight in the past few months, as the cancer had progressed and the treatments had intensified. She had always been tiny, short and naturally thin. Now she was skinny almost to the extreme and the last few days of eating and drinking nothing hadn't helped. Her mouth was sandpaper dry and she was dizzy.

Yet despite her obvious dehydration, Jack felt different. She felt…better. Not a hundred percent, but more lucid than she could remember being in a long time. The sunlight coming through the window felt warm on her bare legs, the linoleum cool, and her head wasn't pounding. That might have been the most significant change. Her mind felt clear, cognizant, and there was no throbbing pressure at the back of her neck.

Jack lifted a hand and brought it to the back of her neck and what she felt there, what she _didn't _feel there, brought tears to her eyes. The tumor was gone! Her neck was flat, the skin no longer pulled taut over a cancerous lump. She choked back a sob and wondered, for a moment, if she were dead. But no, that wasn't possible. She could feel her pulse beating steady and strong in her veins. She was alive!

Jack felt something like elation warm through her stomach, pour out through her limbs. She struggled to stand up, her body still stiff and uncooperative. It took two tries, but she finally got up. Her knees wobbled for a moment before locking. She stood there, rejoicing, wondering how it could have happened. How could her tumor have just disappeared?

Her arm started to itch and she went to scratch it. Her fingers brushed over rigid scabs and she looked down. There were two crescent shaped wounds on her arm. Not very deep, just superficial punctures in the skin. Teeth marks. A bite. She remembered the nurse with the dead eyes that had bitten her and shuddered. Jack looked over her shoulder at the door and wondered if there were any more people left out there. She didn't know what had happened, but if other people had been infected like the nurse, would that have explained the gunshots? Was everyone dead?

There was only one way to find out. Jack reached for the door knob, then remembered how revealing her hospital gown was. She turned around and searched the room, looking for the clothes she had worn when she had been admitted. She had asked the doctors not to throw them out, just in case. Suddenly she was glad she had thought to do that.

There, in the armoire against the wall. She shuffled toward it, opened the drawers, and fished out her jeans and the A Perfect Circle band shirt she had worn so many weeks ago. Her flip-flops were still there too.

It was slow going, but she managed to change herself and made a mental note to try to find underwear as soon as possible. She didn't like going commando. Just as she was turning to head to the door, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye: a bottle of water. It was too good to be true. Jack practically ran for the plastic bottle sitting on the end table near the bed. She cracked it open and slugged it back, feeling instant relief as the water washed over her parched tongue, slid down her constricted throat, and hit her stomach in a wave of blissful, lukewarm nourishment. She drank it down quickly, nearly making herself sick.

When she had drained the bottle she turned to the door. Fear slid down her spine. What if there were people out there that had gone crazy like the nurse? What if the hall was filled with dead bodies? Jack walked to the door, took a deep breath, and let her hand slid back to her neck. She fingered the spot where the tumor had been, taking courage that she had managed to survive, somehow, the deadly cancer that been suffocating her brainstem. She could handle anything that lay on the other side of the door.

What met her eyes was not at all what she had been expecting.

The floor was painted red and black with blood. The walls splattered with gore. The nurse was still there, lying face down. Flesh rotting. The scent of decay and rot was so thick in the air that Jack doubled up, coughing. She gagged and nearly puked up the water.

Something groaned nearby. She heard feet scuffing the floor. Saw a shadow in the peripheral of her vision. She snapped her head to the side and froze. A person in military gear was ambling toward her, mouth agape. She might have thought he was human, if not for the fact that the man was decomposing. His flesh was gray, mottled, peeling away from the bone in places. His chest was ravaged, torn open. How was he able to move?

Jack took a step back, but her body was still weak, still uncoordinated. She tripped over the fallen nurse, went sprawling on the ground. The man, the decomposing, dead man, shuffled toward her. Like the nurse, he had a crazed look on his face, milky, cataract eyes. Jack knew he was coming for her. Her arm throbbed and all she could imagine was his teeth sinking into her skin, ripping her throat open. How ironic to survive a tumor only to be eaten by a walking dead man.

But the corpse, the _zombie_, only spared her a passing glance and a hiss. He didn't stop. He didn't attack her. He just kept shuffling on.

Jack sat absolutely still until he passed and then let out the shaky breath she had been holding. For the second time, she had somehow managed to elude death.

* * *

All it had taken was being robbed and nearly raped for Jack to realize that she couldn't trust the living so easily anymore. She had been on her own for a few weeks, scavenging stores and homes all around Atlanta, just trying to survive. The dead didn't bother her. When she emerged in the streets they didn't take any notice of her, unless she made a lot of noise. Sometimes they would start toward her, recognizing somehow that she wasn't like them, but then they'd get within a few feet and stop, turn around, ignore her. She didn't understand it. She had seen them rip apart living humans, devour flesh. Jack didn't know what made her different, but she was thankful for it.

What really confused her was that she had been bitten. She should have died. Should have turned. But she hadn't. Instead she had woken up, brain cancer miraculously cured, and somehow immune to the zombies that crowded the streets of Atlanta. That wasn't the case with others. She had seen people get bit, run off, die and come back.

No, it wasn't the dead she had to worry about. It was the living people who pulled guns on you, who made you give up your food, water, weapons. The people who tried to rip your clothes off and force themselves on you. In fact, Jack would not have escaped a gruesome rape if it weren't for the zombies. Three or four of the dead had happened up them as the men, a group of six boys barely older than herself, had attempted to defile her in a back alley behind the convenience store she had been holing up in.

She stuck mostly to the areas that were crowded with zombies, the places that other living people were too scared to venture. It was a good plan, for her. Kept her safe from the living that might try to hurt her, take what she had managed to scavenge in the ruins of the city. It was lonely, but she didn't know if there would ever be anyone she could trust again.

That's why, on a sunny day in downtown Atlanta, Jack watched the group of men sneak into the department store across the street and debated whether or not she should help them. Or at least warn them that the zombies ambled in and out of there all the time. Normally she would turn a blind eye, let them fend for themselves. She wasn't looking to get raped today. But there was something about this group, these men, that nagged at her.

One redneck, one muscular black man, one young, obviously scared Asian kid, and a cop. A cop! The uniform was meant to be a sign of integrity, of trustworthiness. And they were obviously on a mission of some sort. Maybe she could help them. Maybe they could help her. Only one way to find out for sure.

She walked calmly to the building, running would just attract zombies. Even though they wouldn't attack her, it was annoying when they followed her around like rotting, stinking puppies. So she made her way into the department store quietly, slowly, and went for the stairs, keeping an eye out for the men she had seen, still wary despite her gut instinct that she needed to find them.

And she did find them. On the roof. She was in the stairwell when she heard their shouting, scuffling, as if they were fighting. She paused, wondering if this were a good idea. Maybe she should just head back down the stairs, give this idea up. But before her brain could talk her out of it, her hand was on the door, pushing it open. It creaked on rusty hinges and all four men turned to her at once, weapons raised and pointed directly at her.

Jack lifted her hands to show she was not a threat and said, "I'm not a zombie, I swear."

The men just stared at her, perplexed, but they slowly lowered their weapons. She took this as a good sign and took a couple steps forward, letting the door close behind her. The cop walked toward her, raising a supplicating hand when she shot him a suspicious look. "My name is Rick Grimes," he said. "Who are you?"

"Jacklyn Rivers," she said, and extended a hand to him. When was the last time she had shook someone's hand? The cop—Rick—took it with a smile. "I saw you guys head into the store. I was going to warn you that it's a pretty regular hangout for the undead, but it looks like you got everything under control."

"You came here, risked getting found by walkers, to deliver us a warning?" The large black man stepped forward, looking incredulous. "You're living in the city, you got to know those things are dangerous."

Jack shook her head, "I can handle myself." She didn't say that the zombies—the _walkers_—weren't a threat to her. "I thought you guys might need help."

"We look like we need help?" the redneck said, giving her a look that clearly said he doubted she would be any assistance to any of them. "What're you gonna do, anyway? Fight those things off bare-handed? You ain't exactly Annie Oakley."

"Daryl," Rick said, chastising. He turned back to Jack and said, "We're just here looking for something. We weren't planning on staying long enough to draw a crowd. We're not trying to put you in danger."

It was true that she didn't have a weapon, but Jack didn't really need one, not against the zombies. She wasn't really in danger, not like they were. And even if she had been packing a weapon, she probably wouldn't know how to use it anyway. "What are ya'll looking for here? Maybe I can help you find it."

"And what would you want in return?" Rick asked her.

She contemplated this for a moment. "You guys have a safe place? Somewhere to hole up where others don't bother you?"

The men all exchanged a glance. Rick nodded to her hesitantly. "We have a camp. Men, women, children. It's safe enough from the walkers."

"I'm not worried about them. I'm worried about the other living people," Jack answered honestly. "I've already been robbed and attacked. I need to find someplace safe from other people. Give me that, and I'll help you find whatever you're looking for."

"How do we know you'll be any help?" the redneck—Daryl—said angrily. He turned to the others and pointed at her. "She might be all talk, and then what? We got another mouth to feed. Another burden."

"I _can _help you," she said. "I know this city. I know the places where the dead congregate the most. And…" she paused, looked around at their faces. They seemed trustworthy enough, at least the cop did. And he had said they had a camp with other women, and children. A safe place. But was it worth it to tell them her secret? To let it be known that she could walk, undetected, among the dead? Would they believe her? Would they try to take advantage of her, use her to do their bidding?

"And?" The young Asian kid asked, gently. He gave her an encouraging look and she saw nothing but earnest compassion in his face. That did it, that made up her mind.

"And the zombies don't bother with me," she said.

The four men all stared at her in awe, disbelief, and confusion. Daryl spit on the ground. The Asian kid went slack jawed.

"What do you mean, they don't bother with you?" Rick finally asked.

"I mean, I can walk into a crowd of them and they don't pay me any attention. I don't know why. I can't explain it. They just don't mess with me." She shrugged. "Like I said, whatever you're looking for, I'm your best bet at finding it."

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Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to: Blackhollyyeaah, TheRedBones, thegoulashqueen, Ilove Daryldixon, Zombiepacalypse, Guest (you reviewed anonymously), ScornedxRose and DTS Guru for your reviews. And to LadyInAzure for the review via PM! Your comments are all appreciated and inspired me to get this chapter out as soon as possible. I hope you all enjoy!

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__Chapter One: This is the Dead Land

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When Jack had finally convinced the men that she could help them and not be an unnecessary burden on their mission, Daryl led them all off the open expanse of rooftop and back into the building. The other two men took the opportunity to fully introduce themselves to Jack as Daryl followed the blood trail of his brother Merle, the man that the group had come back to Atlanta to rescue.

This is what confused Jack. How could they have just left the man there to begin with? That seemed like a huge oversight, or a terrible sacrifice. But she got the feeling from Glenn and T-Dog's disgusted, yet guilty, expressions that it hadn't been entirely intentional, but that they also weren't too sad that Merle was no longer a part of their group. Jack had told them all that she hadn't seen a one-handed man escape from the building that day. She was pretty sure if she had seen something like that it would have stuck with her.

Jack was close behind Daryl when they entered the building, wedged almost protectively between all the men. Yet despite their obvious caution, she walked casually inside, barely bothering to check around corners or listen for the shuffling gait of the undead. She was so used to it, so immune to the initial fear she had felt when she realized she had woken up to the zombie apocalypse that she hardly noticed them anymore. Despite being ambulatory, the undead were so unlike human beings that they might have well as been pigeons for all the notice she gave them. Although, they did smell a lot worse than pigeons.

"Damn, you're cool as a cucumber, aren't you? Not at all worried about these Walker bastards." T-Dog murmured, torn between grudging respect and chastisement.

Jack shrugged, "Like I said, it isn't them I have to worry about these days."T-Dog nodded at this sagely, giving her a quick, critical once over. Jack knew exactly what he saw when he looked at her: a slip of a girl, barely 5' tall, slender as a reed, easily overpowered. Months of cancer treatments had stripped her of the muscle she had developed through high school as a cross-country runner and the little bit of weight-lifting she had done in college. Jack was aware of her physical flaws, of her diminished figure, but it didn't make her any less self-conscious about it. She crossed her arms over her small chest and focused on the walls as they stalked onward.

"Merle," Daryl yelled out when they had walked down a short flight of stairs. "You in here?"

They made their way slowly into what looked like a trashed office building. It didn't look like the sort of place that had ever been very fancy. Cheap commercial carpeting, bland walls, utilitarian furniture and sparse wall decoration. Jack thought about every mind-numbing desk job she had worked in high school and in her first two years of college before the tumor. It was in this office that they spotted the zombie—_Walker_, Jack thought. The woman was probably never attractive, her eyes were too close together, her features plain and unremarkable. In undeath she was even less appealing, especially with her jaw missing and the hanging, flaccid lump of her tongue flapping around where a chin should have been.

Daryl put the Walker down without a moment's hesitation. It was a quick, almost perfunctory action, as if he barely thought about doing it. Jack wasn't sure if she was impressed or repulsed by his detached efficiency. Daryl cast a quick look over his shoulder at the others before walking on. Jack stepped around the felled corpse and followed him into an adjoining room.

There were two more fallen Walkers in the next room and a bloody wrench lying abandoned on the floor. Daryl appraised the bodies and said, with some pride in his voice, "Had enough venom to take out these two sonna bitches. One handed. Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother. Feed'm a hammer, he'll crap out nails."

"Any man can pass out from blood loss," Rick said in a tone that cautioned Daryl not to set his hopes too high. "No matter how tough he is."

Daryl and Rick walked on, and the others hurried to stay in step with them. Jack and Glenn shared an uncomfortable look. The tension between Rick and Daryl was palpable. It was obvious that Rick was trying to assume the role of leader, and Daryl didn't take kindly to being dictated to. Oppositional defiance, Jack thought.

Daryl called out, "Merle!"His voice was loud, echoing off the walls.

"We're not alone here," Rick reminded him harshly.

Daryl glared at the cop. "Screw that. He could be bleedin' out, you said so yourself."

"The blood is fresh though, right?" Jack asked. Everyone turned to look at her. She was the new body in the group, and when she spoke it seemed to startle everyone.

"What about it?" Daryl asked, shifting impatiently on his feet and staring at her with narrowed eyes.

"Well, he can't have gone off too far," she said. "Even if he passed out somewhere, we should be able to find him. With a dismembered hand, I imagine he was stumbling around in a lot of pain, maybe he found somewhere to sit and rest for a minute. Clear his head."

"No point standin' around yappin'," Daryl said, taking the lead again. Jack exhaled in frustration. She had been trying to diffuse some of the tension, having never been one for confrontations, but it seemed her efforts weren't appreciated.

They moved on, filing into an office kitchen. The burners on the stove were on and there was a suspicious lump of burned matter on the stovetop that made Jack's stomach roil. There was a terrible hot smell in the air.

"What's that burned stuff?" Glenn asked, staring at the source of Jack's sudden nausea with his own look of disgust and horror.

"Skin," Rick answered, examining the burnt, melted flesh. "He cauterized the stump."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably and passed around revolted looks, except for Daryl, who was a lip twitch away from either grinning or frowning, Jack wasn't sure which. "Told you he's tough. Nobody can kill Merle but Merle."

"Don't take that on faith. He's lost a lot of blood," Rick said, and Jack wondered why he said it. Was it really necessary to keep bringing up how unlikely it was that this one-handed man, Merle, could still be out there, conscious and surviving? Was he trying to spare Daryl an eventual heartbreak, or rubbing it in?

Jack wasn't familiar enough with either of them to understand the strange dynamic between them, but she didn't think it was the latter. Rick seemed like a decent enough guy, if maybe a little self-righteous.

"Yeah? Didn't stop him from bustin' outta this death trap." Daryl had moved to the window, which was broken out. There was a gap in the ragged glass big enough for a man about Daryl's height and build to slip through, which was saying something. The redneck wasn't exceptionally tall, probably about 5' 10", but he was broad and muscular in a natural, effortless sort of way. For a handicapped man to accomplish this sort of break out was impressive.

Glenn stared at the window not with appreciation, but with annoyance and something suspiciously like worry in his eyes. "He left the building? Why the hell would he do that?"

Daryl scoffed and looked around accusingly. "Why wouldn't he? He's out there alone as far as he knows. Doin' what he's gotta do; survivin'."

T-Dog shook his head in disbelief. "You call that surviving? Just wandering through the streets, maybe passing out? What're his odds out there?"

"Doesn't seem like the guy had a lot of options," Jack said quietly. She hooked a thumb behind her to the room with the Walker corpses. "There would have been more of those things along eventually. What was he going to do, wait here and bludgeon them with a wrench as they came at him?"

Daryl ignored her defending his brother and said, "No worse'n being handcuffed and left to rot by you sorry pricks!" He went in toward Rick, everything about his body language threatening the cop to make a move. "You couldn' kill him, ain't so worried about some dumb dead bastard."

"What about a thousand dumb dead bastards? Different story?" Rick didn't back down from Daryl, which Jack thought was brave. If the angry redneck had come into her face like that she would have retreated. She didn't like the coldness in his eyes, the undisguised hatred. It made her blood turn icy in her veins despite the Georgia heat.

"Why don't you take a tally? Do what you want. I'm a go get him." Daryl moved to walk past Rick, but the cop put a hand on his chest, halting him. Jack would have sooner placed her hand into an alligator's open maw.

"Daryl, wait!"

Daryl looked furious and batted the cop's hand away. He yelled, "Get your hands off a me! You can't stop me!"

Once again, Rick didn't quail under the other man's anger and aggression. He spoke calmly, urgently, but firmly. "Look, I don't blame you. He's family. I get that. I went through hell to get back to mine. I know exactly how you feel. He can't get far with that injury, though. We could help you check a few blocks around, all keep an eye out for him, but only if we keep a level head."

Daryl appraised Rick for a moment, wary, distrusting, but without many options. Finally he said, "I can do that."

Jack released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate a little. She wondered how much conflict this group had and whether it would really be worth it to join them. Yes, she wanted some protection. Safety in numbers. But she really hated conflict, was too much of a pacifist to be comfortable in a group that argued and railed against each other all the time. She hoped she was making the right decision by joining up with them.

Someone bumped her shoulder and she turned to see Glenn looking at her. He gave her a small encouraging smile. Perhaps he had noticed how much the arguing and the anger was getting to her, perhaps he saw her sudden indecisiveness about staying with them. In any case, Jack returned the smile appreciatively and swallowed down her doubts.

"Only way I'm going on this rescue mission is if we get those guns first," T-Dog said. He met Daryl's hard stare and continued, "I'm not strolling the streets of Atlanta with just my good intentions, okay?"

"Okay, then let's get the gun bag," Rick said. Everyone was quiet for a moment as the realization of what they would need to do settled over them. Jack looked around at all of their faces, confused.

"You have a gun bag hidden in the city?" she asked. "Where?"

"It's in the middle of a street, near a tank," Glenn said. "The whole place is crawling with Walkers."

"And you just need to get it? That's it?"

"That's it?" T-Dog repeated. "Ain't that bad enough?"

"We need those guns," Rick said. "Not just to protect ourselves from the Walkers out on the streets, but to take back to protect our group."

"The problem is getting to them," T-Dog said.

Jack smiled. "I don't see how that's going to be a problem." Everyone turned to look at her then. She pointed to herself and said, "Zombie retardant, remember? I'll just go down there, pick them up, and deliver them to you."

"You're not going out there alone," Rick said, alarmed. "Not in a street full of Walkers. Not in the middle of a city overrun with them."

"Even I think it's a bad idea, and I don't like you," Daryl said.

Jack ignored the last comment and said, "Really, I'll be safer out there in middle of a crowd of zomb—er, Walkers, than you guys are sitting right here. I'm not lying and I'm not exaggerating when I say they don't mess with me. Honestly, this will be the easiest thing I've done all day."

The men all shared a look, but no one argued any further.

* * *

The plan was simple. Glenn, Daryl and Jack would go to the alley in which Glenn had helped Rick escape from Walkers the day before. Daryl would cover the entrance to the alley with his crossbow, the quietest weapon amongst them, while Glenn waited at the fence for Jack. She would go out into the street, grab the bag and toss it over the fence to Glenn. When she was sure that she hadn't attracted the attention of any Walkers, she would slip through the fence and join them.

Rick and T-Dog would wait two blocks away in case there was no way for Jack to get back to Daryl and Glenn without Walkers following her like a trail of ducklings. They were attracted to noise and movement, and just because they wouldn't try and eat her didn't mean that they wouldn't be enticed to follow her around a little bit. Either way, she had someone to hand the bag off to. They would all meet back at the office building after the bag was picked up.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Glenn asked for what seemed like the hundredth time when they made it to the alley. He looked worried and skeptical and hopeful all at once.

Daryl just looked bored.

Jack gave him a reassuring smile. "You don't know me well enough to trust me on my word, but in time, you'll learn that I don't just throw myself out into danger for a bunch of whack-jobs I just met. Watch." And she slipped out the fence, pushing it back against the wall as quietly as possible.

The street was teeming with the undead. They ambled and shuffled along without any sense of direction, like litter blowing in the wind. Jack stepped out into the street. A few decayed faces turned her way, but like usual they paid her little attention. She walked slowly, though, not wanting to attract any followers.

She slid along the side of the tank, aware of Glenn and Daryl's eyes following her with awe and disbelief, respectively. The bag of guns was exactly where Rick said it would be in front of the tank. She dropped to the ground and pulled the strap over her shoulder. It was heavier than she had been expecting but not unbearable. Lying nearby was a uniform hat. It was tawny with a round brim and a center crease crown. The sort of thing a sheriff might wear, she thought and snatched it up as well.

She stood, balancing the weight of the gun bag on one shoulder and trying not to crumple the hat under her arm. The lucky thing was that burdened down with the bag, she had to move much slower so she drew less attention from the undead as she made her way back to the alley. She was nearly there, in fact, thinking everything was going down without a hitch, when she heard the screams.

"Ayudarme! Ayudarme!"

Jack swung the gate open and handed the bag of guns off to Glenn. A few feet down the alley was Daryl straddling a young man who was writhing and struggling on the ground. "What's going on?" she asked, frantically looking around to make sure no Walkers had been attracted by the sounds. When she turned around though it was to see two men rush into the alley. They went for Daryl and Glenn at first, hitting them with bats, trying to take the gun bag.

Jack wasn't sure what to do, but she knew she couldn't let them leave the alley with the guns, so, without really thinking it through, she jumped onto the back of one of the men, locking her arms around his neck in the way she had seen actors do on TV to choke someone out. Perhaps it would have been more effective if she had had some upper body strength, but as it was, all she managed to do was hold on as the guy tried to dislodge her like a bucking bronco. He slammed back into the brick wall, crushing her beneath his weight, and she finally had to let go. She hit the ground gasping for air, her lungs burning and her back aching from nape to lumbar.

An arrow whizzed through the air and made home in the buttocks of one of the men. He yelped and dropped the bag of guns. The other man grabbed hold of Glenn and started dragging him from the alley, using him like a human shield against Daryl's arrows. A car pulled to the curb and the men, with Glenn as their hostage, hoped inside and sped away.

Jack cursed and jumped to her feet as Walkers started to converge upon the alley. She made it to the fence before Daryl and pulled it firmly closed. The Walkers reached their hands out, pushing against the metal, trying to reach Daryl and the boy whose friends had left him behind.

Suddenly there were feet pounding the pavement. Rick and T-Dog had come when they heard the screams and were looking between Daryl, Jack and the kid. Daryl didn't stay still for long. He ran at the kid suddenly, ready to beat the hell out of him. Jack watched, wide-eyed, as Rick intercepted and kept Daryl off the kid.

Daryl was unaffected. He pointed at the kid and yelled, "I'm gonna kick your nuts up in your throat!"

"What happened?" Rick demanded, pushing Daryl back and demanding his attention.

Daryl made a frustrated gesture to the kid and said, "This little asshole came runnin' up, yellin'. It was a trap to get the guns. His buddies came and jumped me, took Glenn." Suddenly it seemed to be too much for him, he couldn't hold back his rage anymore. Daryl surged forward, once again held back by Rick, and pointed his finger accusingly at the kid. "I'm gonna stomp your ass!"

Rick looked to Jack, who was still a little shell shocked, and asked, "You okay?"

Wordlessly she nodded and then, of all the things she could have thought to do in that moment, reached down and picked up the hat from the ground and handed it to him. Rick took it and looked like he was about to say something else to her, but the Walkers behind them were starting to press the fence inward and it was suddenly imperative that they escape the alley.

They ran down the alley and then, when they deemed themselves a safe distance away, ducked into an abandoned building. The kid was forced into a chair while T-Dog and Rick made sure the room was secure. Daryl, on the other hand, was busy interrogating the kid.

"Where's my brother?" he yelled, grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt.

"Man, I don't know your brother. I look like I hang out with a bunch of old white guys?"

Daryl shook the kid roughly, "Where's Merle?"

Rick grabbed Daryl and began to pull him off as the kid snorted and said, "_Merle_? What kind of white trash, redneck name is Merle?" It was a lucky thing Rick had pulled Daryl away, because if he had been any closer, Daryl's shoe would have made contact with the kid's skull.

"I been wondering that same thing myself," T-Dog confided to Jack quietly. "What cruel sort of momma names her baby Merle?"

Jack tried to bite back a grin, but was unsuccessful. Daryl shot them both a glare as he went to the pack that Glenn had been carrying earlier. Jack moved forward and stood near Rick, looking down at the kid. He was trying to act tough, but he was scared.

"Look," she said, and the kid's eyes snapped to her face, "we don't want to hurt you. We just want to get our friend back, get you back to your friends. Why don't you just cooperate? This doesn't have to be a bad situation unless we make it one."

The boy stared at her for a moment, wavering. She thought for a second that he was going to tell them where Glenn was being held, to play nice, but then a nasty leer spread over his face and he said, "When my friends come for me they're gonna cripple these assholes, but you? I can put in a word for you. We don't have many bitches around, might be nice. You'd have to earn your keep though."

It was obvious what he meant by _earn your keep_, and even though Jack knew he was only saying it out of fear, just trying to keep tough and make threats, it still sent a shiver through her. She'd had a close call already.

Rick put a hand on Jack's shoulder, easing her backward and away from the kid. "That's enough," he told the boy. "Just tell us where they're keeping Glenn."

"I'm not telling you shit."

Daryl snatched something from the backpack, something wrapped in a dirty bandana. "Wanna see what happened to the last guy that pissed me off?" He unwrapped the bandana and tossed its contents onto the kids lap. It was a severed hand. The kid screeched and fell off the chair and Daryl was on him in a flash, grabbing his leg and giving it a vicious yank. "I'll start with the feet this time!"

The kid screamed again and Rick pulled Daryl back off him. But the combination of the severed hand and Daryl's threat seemed to have been enough to convince the kid to give them what they wanted. He agreed to lead them to his group.

* * *

Their first meeting with the Vatos did not go quite to plan. Jack had stayed behind with T-Dog when Daryl and Rick went to meet Guillermo or "G" as the kid called him, and didn't hear what transpired between the groups. She did, however, see them bring Glenn onto the roof of the building and threaten to drop him off to his death.

Daryl, Rick and the kid were soon heading back toward them. T-Dog raised his hands and said, "What's the problem?"

"Why didn't they take the deal?" Jack asked, indicating the kid.

"They want the guns," Rick said. "The guns for Glenn. Otherwise no deal. In fact, they said they'd unload on us if we show up without them."

"Then we give up the guns, right?" Jack asked. They were walking back toward the abandoned building. Rick and T-Dog shared a look (Jack wished they would all stop doing that and just say what they wanted to say out loud).

"Cute and smart," the kid said to Jack. "You're a package deal, huh, baby?"

"Shut up," Daryl said, shoving the kid forward. They made it back to the building without encountering any Walkers, and once inside, the kid was forced back into a corner while the others discussed what was going to be done.

"We can't leave Glenn there," Jack said. She barely knew these people, but she couldn't stomach the idea of leaving him to an unknown fate with a potentially hostile gang. It was cruel. What must Glenn be going through? How scared must he be? Was he wondering if he would ever see their faces again? The very idea made Jack's throat become tight and the backs of her eyes burn.

"Of course we won't," Rick said with conviction, and then turned to T-Dog and Daryl. "We're getting him back, no matter what." He went to the bag of guns and started loading them back in, rearranging the ammo so that everything fit comfortably inside and he could pull the zipper closed.

"Them guns are worth more than gold. But gold won't protect your family or put food on your table. You willin' to give that up for that kid?" Daryl asked Rick. It was a practical question, given that they were a few lucky survivors of the zombie apocalypse, but the cold detachment in his voice made Jack's stomach turn.

"Glenn's life is worth more than a bag of guns," Jack said.

"Why do you care so damn much?" Daryl shot at her. "What's that Chinaman mean to you anyway? You jus' met him."

"It doesn't matter if I know him or not," she said, as calmly as possible, even though her hands were starting to shake like they always did when someone confronted her. There was a reason she could never have been a lawyer, didn't have the nerves for arguing. "He is a human being. He matters!"

"I might agree with you, Jack, if I knew for sure we'd get Glenn back," T-Dog said. "You really think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand him over? Easy as that?"

"Are you calling G a liar," the kid asked angrily.

Daryl kicked the chair, nearly sending the kid onto the floor. "You a part of this? You want to hold onto your teeth?" He smacked the kid roughly on the back of the head, which wasn't as bad as what Jack had been expecting. She had been certain the angry redneck was going to drive his fist into the kid's chin the next time he opened his mouth.

"The question is, do you trust the man's word?" T-Dog asked.

"No, the real question is, what're you willin' to bet on it? Could be more than guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?" Daryl asked.

Jack looked at Rick expectantly. Surely he wouldn't let Glenn suffer at the hands of those Vatos. Rick wouldn't leave him there. He couldn't.

"It is," Rick said. "I owe my life to Glenn. I wasn't anybody to him, and he saved me from that tank. He could have walked away, left me to my fate, but he didn't. And I won't either."

"You're gonna hand the guns over, then?" Daryl didn't seem upset about this, just curious. Perplexed, maybe, that someone would be willing to gamble so much for someone they barely knew. Jack didn't know much about Daryl, aside from the fact that he had an explosive temper and a colorful vocabulary, but she didn't think he was the type of person that normally went out of his way to help strangers, or even acquaintances.

Rick shook his head. "I didn't say that. We're going to get Glenn back _and _keep our guns."

* * *

Rick had given them all an opportunity to back out of the mission, to sit it out or head back to camp, but no one took him up on the offer. Not even Daryl, which might have surprised the cop more than Jack's agreeing to stand with them. He had made it very clear that she didn't need to feel obligated, that he would understand if she didn't want to get involved in this mess. They would still take her in, no pressure. But Jack had felt that if she were going to join this group, then she needed to play a part in defending it as well. That was the whole point to safety in numbers, right?

It seemed like it took a lot less time for them to reach the Vatos the second time. Maybe because of the nervous energy that poured off of them, or maybe because they were all dreading this meeting.

Jack pulled the shotgun in tight to her shoulder. She had never shot a gun before, so Rick had thought she should take this. It had a wider range, harder to miss a target. She hoped she didn't have to shoot it at all. Her hair was starting to come undone from its messy bun, dark brown strands falling into her eyes. She tried to blow them off her face, but it was no use, and she was so tense that she didn't dare take her hands off the gun in case something happened.

When they reached the doors to the Vato's stronghold, they didn't have to wait long. Soon the doors were swinging open. Daryl unceremoniously pushed the kid inside with the end of his gun and they all followed after. The doors shut after them and it was obvious they were outnumbered but not, Jack realized, outgunned. Most of the people were standing around them in a circle wielding bats, golf clubs, even PVC pipes.

"See my guns, but they ain't all in the bag," G, Guillermo, said. He only had eyes for Rick, but some of the other men were giving Jack blatant, appreciative glances. Jack was a pretty enough girl, but she didn't have luscious curves, or the sort of figure you might see in an oil painting or carved into marble. But women were scarce at the end of the world, and Jack guessed it didn't matter what she looked like, so long as she had the right anatomy.

"That's because they're not yours. Thought I mentioned that before," Rick said.

The man next to Guillermo started forward threateningly, but was stopped by a hand on his chest. Guillermo said, "And I told you what the deal would be. I'm gonna cut up your boy, feed him to my dogs. They're the evilest, man eating bitches you ever seen. I told you how it was going to be, or are you deaf?"

"I heard fine. You said come locked and loaded," Rick pointed his gun in Guillermo's face without hesitation. "Okay, we're here."

Jack could feel her heart beating in her throat. Never in a thousand lifetimes would she have pictured herself squaring off for a gunfight against a gang, especially after the world as she knew it had been obliterated. It was more drama than a soap opera and _Maury _crossover.

But just as she thought someone was going to open fire, there was a soft voice carrying through the crowd. Everyone turned and Jack lowered her gun ever so slightly. A little old woman came shuffling forward, speaking in Spanish to the man beside Guillermo, Felipe. When she caught sight of them, though, she asked in English, "Who are those people?" And then she noticed Rick's uniform, his hat, and scolded him, "Don't you take him!"

Rick looked at her in confusion. "Ma'am? Don't take who?"

"Felipe is a good boy. He had trouble, but he pulled himself together. We need him," she said, a little desperately. Behind her Felipe was throwing an exasperated look at Guillermo.

"I'm not her to arrest your grandson," Rick said, catching on.

"Then what you want with him?"

"He's helping us find a missing person. A guy named Glenn."

Her eyes lit up suddenly and she grabbed Rick's hand. "Asian boy? I take you to him." Rick followed her through the crowd with Daryl, T-Dog and Jack close behind.

Guillermo, exasperated with the turn of events, said, "Let em' pass."

* * *

It didn't take long for Jack's entire perception of Guillermo and his gang to be changed. They weren't hardened thugs trying to take from others. They were just trying to survive and take care of the residents of the nursing home they had taken over. They were looking out for those that couldn't look out for themselves. Tending to their medical needs. Feeding them. Protecting them.

They found Glenn in what looked like a rec room or converted cafeteria. He was standing with some others around an older gentleman who was struggling to breathe. "What's going on?" Rick asked.

"Asthma attack," Glenn answered. He nodded hello to Jack, and she was relieved to see that he seemed perfectly okay.

"Man, we thought they were feeding you to the dogs," T-Dog said, clapping a happy hand on Glenn's shoulder.

Jack looked around, but the only dogs she could see were a trio of Chihuahuas that looked less than vicious.

Eventually Rick and Guillermo had a talk and Rick gave over a few guns, which seemed noble. Jack wondered what it took to keep this place protected, to keep these people fed and cared for. She couldn't imagine what an undertaking it had to be.

They parted ways on good terms, though Jack was disturbed to catch more than a few of the men still giving her lingering looks. T-Dog seemed to notice too and pushed her ahead of him, blocking their view of her retreating from. It was gentlemanly and Jack appreciated it. How many people still subscribed to chivalry and kindness when the walls of civilization came crumbling down?

They walked in happy silence for a beat before Daryl said, "You gave away half the guns and ammo." It was more incredulous than accusatory.

Rick shook his head. "Not even close to half."

"What for?" Daryl asked. A bunch of old people that're gonna die soon anyway. How long do you really think they got anyway?"

"How long do any of us have?" Rick asked solemnly. "This pandemic isn't age or gender specific."

"I hate to interrupt," Jack said, "but what would be the chance that I could stop by my camp and grab a few bags? I have some food, water, clothes, even some toiletries that might come in handy."

"We could do with all the supplies we can get," Rick said. "Where is your camp? We can make a slight detour."

Jack shook her head. "I can't take you there, too many Walkers. I'd have to go alone and meet you back here, or wherever."

"At the car," Glenn said. "We parked on the outskirts of town, near the train tracks."

Jack nodded. "I won't be long." She started to head off, but Rick stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't feel right letting you wander off by yourself in the city. It's gonna be dark soon. There's no way to know what might be waiting there for you."

"My camp is in the middle of the Walker-verse. No living human is going to risk it there, except for me. I'll be fine. I'll meet you at your car in thirty minutes, or you can leave without me." And with that she took off, jogging back into the city, uncaring that she attracted the attention of the undead. They followed her all the way to her hideout, and ambled around idly as she gathered up the canned food, clothes, deodorant sticks, waterless soaps, and bottled water she had managed to scavenge.

When that group of men had robbed her they had cleared out most of the things she had managed to stockpile. What she packed up now into two separate duffel bags was just the stuff she had managed to find in the last week. It wouldn't go as far with a large group, but she thought it might be appreciated. Those people probably weren't used to luxuries like toothpaste and canned peaches anymore. And books. She had a few of those too. Her favorite titles, taken from the library: _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, _Little Women_, _To Kill a Mockingbird_, and _Grimm's Fairytales_. Those were the books she felt she couldn't live without. So she had taken them, even though they were an added burden to carry around.

After she had gathered her belongings she headed out, jogging only half the way and then switching to a slow walk so that the Walkers would quit following her and turn back to their hunting grounds inside the city.

It only took her a total of twenty minutes to grab her stuff and make it to the outskirts, but when she got there and met up with the others, it was with some confusion.

"Where's your car?" Jack asked, heaving her bags that seemed to get heavier by the minute.

Glenn shook his head. "It's gone."

"Damn," Jack said, a sentiment that seemed to be shared by everyone.

* * *

Well, there it is folks, chapter one. I will always do my best to write long chapters, because I know how much I appreciate it when authors do this. I hate waiting forever for someone to update a story to only get a few paragraphs... -_-...

Please leave a review!


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who reviewed: DanielleBurkex3, Markay81, Zombiepacalypse, Blackhollyyeaah, Guest (anonymous), thegoulashqueen, TheRedBones, IloveDarylDixon, ScornedxRose, and Forevermore-from-Nevermore

Also, I received a PM this week with a certain story-related concern, so let me address this now: The romance that develops between Jack and Daryl will be slow. They are not going to hook up randomly or just suddenly fall in love with each other. Daryl is a complicated character, and I think he needs time to grow close to Jack and start caring about her. So please have patience! That being said, there will be more interaction between the two of them as the story continues on and there will be more deviations from the original plot. This chapter sticks fairly close to the show, though starting in the next chapter the plot will start to deviate a bit.

* * *

Chapter Two: Death's Other Kingdom

* * *

T-Dog relieved Jack of one of her bags, the heavier one filled with food and water, and they set out for the camp on foot. The happy, almost-carefree mood that had settled over the group after they left the Vatos had disappeared when they discovered the van missing. Now, as they walked there was a cloud of anxiety and frustration in the air between them.

Everyone carried a weapon, even Jack. Rick had insisted she take one of the small handguns even though she had said she didn't know anything about shooting. She didn't even know how to take the safety off. Despite being raised in the South, she had always been a city girl at heart.

"Man, we'll be lucky if we make it back before dark," T-Dog said, hopping over the train tracks as they left the high rises and department stores of Atlanta behind them.

"I think we've exhausted our good luck for one day," Glenn said, staring up at the sky. The sun was making quick progress toward the western horizon. They probably had a few hours of light left, and too many miles left to walk. "I don't think we're gonna make it before nightfall."

"Maybe if we hadn't spent so much time goin' back and forth with those Vatos," T-Dog murmured.

Daryl scoffed. "And maybe if princess here hadn't made a pit stop home first." He gave his head a condescending jerk toward Jack without looking at her.

She cringed but surprised herself by saying, "I didn't think bringing extra supplies would be a bad thing. And Atlanta isn't my home. I'm from Houston."

Daryl rolled his eyes, uninterested in the distinction. "Whatever. Point is, that's thirty minutes we coulda' spent on the road. If Merle did take the van then he's prob'ly on his way to take vengeance right now. Know I would be, in his shoes."

"My suggestion is we pick up the pace, then," Rick said, and began to trot along. His expression was full of concern, worry, and agitation. He set a steady pace and Jack hiked the strap of the duffel up her shoulder before following after.

They were quiet for a while as they jogged along the side of the road, all keeping their eyes turned to the trees and abandoned cars, looking for movement, listening for moans. They only encountered two Walkers on their way back. One had been a child when it died, a little boy with dark brown hair and freckles. Rick had given the kid a long, hesitant look before Daryl took him down with an arrow to the temple.

They didn't slow when darkness fell around them. Jack could feel a stitch forming in her side. She wasn't anywhere near the physical condition she used to be. Back in high school she had been a long distance runner, never one for short sprints. She had a natural endurance, but her body was much frailer than it had been, even after weeks of scavenging and working hard for her meals, she had barely built back any musculature. But she refused to ask the group to slow down. She figured they would probably oblige her, in fact, Glenn and T-Dog might even be happy for the break. But she knew how badly they wanted to reach their camp and how dangerous it was for them to be out in the dark in the middle of nowhere. And she wasn't going to give Daryl an excuse to lay anymore blame on her.

"Can I ask you something, Jack?" Glenn broke the silence, his words huffing out into the darkness.

"Sure," she said quietly, trying to keep her eyes trained on the trees, alert for movement, as she jogged.

"How is it possible? I mean, why don't Walkers attack you?"

She considered this a moment. It's not like there were any scientists or doctors around to explain it, so she only had her own ideas to fall back on. "I don't know for certain."

"But you have a theory," Rick said.

Jack looked at him quickly before shooting her eyes back to the trees. "I had been diagnosed with cancer," she said. "A tumor wrapped around my brain stem. I was in the hospital when hell broke loose and I got bit by one of the nurses-turned-Walker."

"You got bit?" T-Dog asked sharply, and suddenly everyone was staring at her with fear and wariness in their eyes.

Before they could turn their guns on her, Jack hurried to say, "Yes, several weeks ago. But I didn't turn." Everyone seemed to calm the tiniest bit, but the way they held their weapons a little tighter told her that they wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in her brain if she made a wrong move. "I passed out, still weak and drugged up. I woke up a few days later and my tumor was gone, the bite was scabbed over, and everyone in the hospital was dead or undead."

"The tumor was gone?" Glenn asked.

Jack's hand went to the back of her neck instinctively and despite the current situation, a smile spread over her lips. "Yeah. Completely gone."

"So you got bit and somehow survived it. Is that why the Walkers don't come after you?" Rick asked.

"That's what I'm thinking, but I can't really make the connection. I mean, why did I survive? Why didn't I turn? And how did my cancer just disappear?" Jack shrugged and then immediately regretted the action as the strap of her duffel dug into her shoulder. The weight was starting to strain her arm.

"Whatever the reason," Rick said, "I'm glad you did. And I'm glad we found you."

"Actually, I found you," she teased.

Rick smiled and looked like he would say something else, but suddenly the sound of gunshots echoed through the air. They all paused for just a moment, passed around a panicked look, and then shot off toward the sounds. It didn't matter that they were exhausted, burdened with packs and heavy guns. All that mattered was that they reach the camp and protect their people. Jack felt their urgency and fear like it was a living thing wrapping around her body, pulling her forward, pushing her past her physical limits.

They heard the screams before they saw the dying embers of firelight in the distance. It was a terrible noise, the screams. It reminded Jack of the hospital, of the sounds outside the door. Gunshots, screams, and moans. Her heart was in her throat. Her skin rippled with chills. She could smell death in the air, rotting corpses and fresh blood.

When they burst into the camp, it was like walking onto the set of a horror movie. Bodies lay on the ground. Walkers ripped into the flesh of still screaming men and women. People ran for their lives, calling out for their loved ones, crying, too scared to think straight. Daryl, T-Dog, Glenn and Rick started shooting the closest Walkers, yelling for the fleeing people to make for the RV parked on the other side of the clearing.

Jack took in her surroundings, the death, the chaos. She didn't know what to do. Her hand gripped the gun tightly but she didn't raise it, too afraid that if she managed to get the safety off that she might accidently shoot a person instead of a Walker. She let her duffel slip off her shoulder and hit the dirt, but didn't bother picking it back up.

Someone screamed near her, and Jack turned to see a young girl and a woman with very short hair being chased by an unusually fast Walker. Jack didn't think about her actions, didn't try to form a plan of attack, she just lunged forward and jumped onto the Walker's back. It stumbled and fell to its knees, but other than the fact that it had been knocked to the ground, the Walker didn't pay any attention to the person clinging to its back. It started to crawl toward the girl and the woman, undaunted, dragging Jack along. She struggled with it, trying to slow it down, but it kept on relentlessly.

Jack clutched her gun and brought her hand up. She started beating the Walker over the head with the butt of the gun until the skull cracked, caved in and the corpse went still beneath her. She sat up, panting for breath, trembling with adrenaline and disgust. When she looked up the girl and the woman were embracing and shooting her terrified, but appreciative looks.

Jack stood up on shaking legs and looked around her. The Walkers had all been felled. Rick and Daryl and another dark haired man were canvassing the area. Glenn was standing a few yards away, his face ashen and horrified. Near the RV a blond woman was kneeling next to a girl covered in blood, wailing. Bodies were everywhere. Blood and gore was splashed all over the ground. It was worse, somehow, than all she had seen in Atlanta.

This was not the safe haven she had been hoping for. This was a nightmare.

* * *

No one in the camp slept that night. Either too frightened or too heartbroken, they worked through the night and into the next day to move the bodies, clean up the destruction, reinforce the meager defenses they had set up around the camp, and get ready to destroy the numerous dead that had accumulated in the night.

Jack fell in with some of the women that were cleaning up. Mostly they were tidying up the things that had been thrown about in the chaos of the previous night, but a few braver souls were also sweeping away the viscera and jellied blood that had clumped in the dirt and grass around camp.

Jack tried not to look at the people who grieved over the dead bodies, or the blond woman who hadn't moved from her spot by the RV and the dead girl beside it. Jack didn't know any of the people who had died, and she felt like an intruder on the pain of the survivors. So she kept busy, picking things up from the ground, cleaning the ashes from the night's fire, and otherwise staying out of anyone's way. Especially when some of the people in the group started discussing the blond woman, Andrea, and her dead sister on the ground.

Some of the group, including Daryl, the dark haired man who had been introduced to Jack as Shane, and a few others wanted to just put a bullet in Amy's brain, end her before she could come back. Others, like Rick's wife Lori, wanted to let Andrea have her time with Amy before that happened. Jack didn't think it was a smart idea not to take care of Amy now, but she didn't think she had a right to say anything about it. So she turned from the conversation and tried not to regret her decision to come here.

There was a commotion from the other side of the camp. Glenn's upset voice carried through the air. "We don't burn them! We bury our people. Our people go over there. We don't burn them!"

Jack watched as Daryl and another man, Morales, carried a broken body to the other side of the RV where another row of dead were lain out upon the ground. Daryl grumbled something beneath his breath, and Jack figured it must be insulting because Morales shot him a disgusted look and said, "Shut up man!"

Daryl dropped his end of the body onto the ground with a disturbing amount of disregard and yelled, "Screw that! Ya'll left my brother for dead. You had this comin'!" At that he gestured angrily around the entire camp. Jack watched him storm off and cringed.

"I'd like to say that Daryl's normally a nice guy, or that this behavior is out of character for him, but then I'd be deceiving you," Lori said, coming up beside Jack. She gave the younger woman an encouraging but sad smile. "Rick told me how you found them in Atlanta. That you were the one to get the guns. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you helped keep him safe out there, kept him off those streets. We just got him back. I can't lose him again."

Jack rubbed the back of her head, a little uncomfortable. "Rick's a good guy." She felt stupid saying it, but she couldn't think of anything else.

Lori nodded. "Most of the people here are good. I think you'll like it here. I'm just sorry that you came during all of this." She gestured around at the somber group, the piles of bodies.

"Things are like this everywhere, I'd imagine," Jack said. She didn't mean for it to sound as cold as it did, so she followed up with, "When the world ends, I think what matters most is that everyone holds onto their humanity. Bury your dead, honor them, remember them." She thought she had read something like that in a book once.

"Who did you lose?" Lori asked softly.

"Me? No one, at least, no one since all this started. My parents were already dead and I'm an only child."

"I'm sorry. It must have been hard, being alone," Lori said.

"Don't worry about it. My mom died in childbirth and my dad died from a massive heart attack a few years ago. I'd rather they be dead already than have to live through all of this." Once again, Jack thought her words might have come across as cold, or insensitive, but Lori only smiled and nodded her head in understanding.

"A Walker got him," Jacqui suddenly yelled from across camp. She pointed her finger at a tall, slender man that Jack hadn't met yet. "A Walker bit Jim!"

Everyone moved forward at once, even Jack, encircling Jim who had raised a shovel protectively in front himself. "I'm okay," he said, but there was a crazed glean in his eyes that no one missed.

"Show it us, then," Daryl said. He still had the gory pickax he had been using to prevent any of the dead from turning clutched in his hands. "Show it to us!"

Jim swiped the shovel forward to keep everyone at bay, but T-Dog came up behind him and grabbed his arms. Daryl tossed his pickax to the ground and lifted Jim's shirt, exposing a thin abdomen covered in hair, and two crescent shaped marks punched into the skin. A bite so similar to Jack's that she couldn't help but unconsciously run her fingers over her arm.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay," Jim kept saying, like a mantra. As if he really would be okay if he just kept repeating it. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay."

Everyone stepped away from him and exchanged tired, hopeless, heartbroken glances. _Another one lost_, their expressions seemed to say, _another body in a grave_. Jack watched Jim as he stood there, repeating those same two words over and over until someone finally took his hand and led him over to the RV, pulling him to sit down and rest. Her fingers slid over her own scar, the still shiny red skin that should have been the end of her but somehow became her salvation. It wouldn't be that way for Jim though, and despite his words, she could see that realization in the defeated slump of his shoulders and the trembling in his hands.

"What do we do?" Jacqui asked quietly. The whole group had assembled and were shooting wary glances at Jim, as if he was going to turn at any second.

"We can put a pickax in his head, an' the dead girl's an' be done with it," Daryl said, fidgeting with the pickax in his hand. He seemed to have an endless supply of energy and no outlet for it.

"That what you would want, if it were you?" Shane asked angrily.

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it," Daryl replied, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I hate to say it, I never thought I would," Dale, an older gentleman that had introduced himself to Jack the night before, looked around at the others as he spoke. "But maybe Daryl's right."

"Jim's not a monster, Dale. Or some rabid dog," Rick said.

"I'm not saying—," Dale began.

"He is a sick, sick man," Rick interrupted. "We go down that road, then where do we draw the line?"

"The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for Walkers, or the to-be," Daryl said.

"What if we can get him to help? I heard the CDC is working on a cure," Rick said.

"I heard that too, heard a lot of things before the world went to hell," Shane said.

"What if the CDC is still up and running?" Rick only had eyes for Shane now, and Jack could sense some sort of power struggle between them. One man who had led the group this far, and another man who, with a natural sort of leadership, was trying to lead them in another direction. Both men seemed to have the best intentions, but that wasn't what was going to save this group.

"And that is a stretch right there," Shane said, shaking his head.

"Why?" Rick wasn't willing to give this idea up. "If there's any government left, and structure at all, they'd protect the CDC at all costs. Wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection, rescue."

"We all want those things, Rick." Shane's hands were on his hips, and the look he gave Rick was part derisive and part pitying. "I do too, okay? But if they exist, they're at the army base. Fort Benning."

"That's a hundred miles away," Lori said.

"In the opposite direction," Jack said. Shane barely acknowledged her, but Dale gave her a calculated look, interested that she had spoken up at all.

"That's right," Shane went on. "But it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational, it would be heavily armed. We would be safe there."

"The military were on the front lines of this. They got overrun, we've all seen that," Rick said. "The CDC's our best bet and Jim's only chance."

Dale shook his head. "There is no miracle cure, Rick. Even if we make it to the CDC before…before it happens, there's no cure! Otherwise we wouldn't be in the mess we are. They would have distributed it long ago."

Now Rick looked directly at Jack. "Maybe they didn't have a cure before. But maybe they can make one now."

Shane and some of the others scoffed at this, even Lori shot her husband a disbelieving look. But then Glenn and T-Dog were both staring expectantly at Jack as well. Even Daryl cast her a sideways glance, though there was no hopeful expectation in his expression. She shifted uncomfortably, not sure what they were wanting her to say. But Rick spared her from having to search for words.

"Jack was bitten by a Walker weeks ago and didn't turn. Her bite healed over and now," he gestured a hand toward her, "now Walker's don't bother with her."

"What do you mean?" Dale demanded.

"That's ridiculous," Shane said. "No one can get bit and not turn. It just doesn't happen."

"I did get bit," Jack said. She lifted her arm and let everyone look at the scar there. Definitely a bite mark, and unlike the sort that resulted from an animal attack. The teeth marks were too blunt.

Shane looked at the scar and said, "Couldn't have been a Walker. Maybe the person that bit you was just manic, or schizophrenic. Or maybe they were just high on bath salts."

Glenn said, "But that wouldn't explain how she can be around them without them trying to eat her. Daryl and I both watched her walk out onto a street full of Walkers, grab the bag of guns, and walk back to us without one Walker trying to attack her."

Everyone looked at her with interest and suspicion until Rick said, "The point is, if we can get to the CDC, and Jack agrees to go with us," at this he gave her a pointed but pleading look, "then maybe they can examine her blood, or DNA or whatever and develop a cure."

"You think that could work?" Lori asked, her expression hopeful as she looked between her husband and Jack.

"That still wouldn't save him," Jack whispered and looked at Jim. "A cure could take weeks, months even. He might have another day, tops."

"There's still hope. Maybe the CDC is close, maybe they've been working on a cure for a while now. We can't know unless we go there. We owe it to Jim to try."

As Rick spoke, Jack watched Daryl. It wasn't a conscious thing, but her attention was drawn to him, to the way he rolled the pickax in his hand and shot Jim a considering look. Despite his earlier words, it wasn't detachment or callousness etched into his face, but rather a fierce desire to protect himself and the camp from the looming threat of allowing an infected person amongst them. He nodded his head slightly and said, "You go find some aspirin, do what you need to do. Time someone had the balls to take care of this problem!"

He had rushed toward Jim, pickax raised, and Jack didn't doubt for a second that if Rick hadn't pulled his gun and aimed it at Daryl's head that he would have gone through with it. But, with the gun only inches from the back of his neck, and Shane coming around to stand between the pickax and Jim, there weren't a lot of options left. Jack didn't realize she had done it, but the moment Daryl ran for Jim she had taken a step back, trying to put distance between herself and the confrontation. A hand came to rest gently on her shoulder and she looked up to see Dale. He didn't say anything, just nodded his head reassuringly. It was enough.

"We don't kill the living," Rick was saying, enunciating each word carefully.

Daryl lowered the pickax and looked at Rick belligerently. "That's funny, coming from a man that jus' put a gun to my head."

"We may disagree on some things," Shane said. "But not on this. You put it down. Go on." He indicated the pickax still gripped in Daryl's hands.

Daryl gave both men disgusted looks, but stabbed the pickax into the ground and walked off. Despite the fact that he had just been thwarted, Daryl exuded an aura of rebellion and independence, and seemed completely uninterested in what any of the people staring at him thought.

Rick gathered up Jim and led him into the RV, and everyone went back to getting the camp cleaned up and the bodies ready for burial. Jack went off with Lori again, and immersed herself in gathering up firewood and the eating utensils that had been knocked over and kicked around in the dirt. They would all need to be washed before use, she thought, which would give her something else to do to occupy her time.

She wasn't at this very long, however, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Jack looked up to see Glenn standing behind her, looking uncomfortable. She straightened and gave him an inquisitive look. "What's up?"

Glenn shifted on his feet, "I hate to ask you this, but would you be willing to help me wrap them?" He pointed behind them to the pile of bodies waiting to be buried. There were some sheets and picnic blankets lying nearby, but not a lot of volunteers for the job.

Jack didn't want to do it either. There was something intimate about preparing your dead for burial, and since she didn't know any of the deceased, didn't have any sort of bond with them, it felt somehow wrong to be a part of it. But she couldn't say no, not when Glenn was looking so upset, so distraught. She nodded her head and followed him over to the bodies.

They laid out the sheets first and then lifted the bodies onto them. Carefully, gently, they rolled the sheets around the bodies, tucking them around the heads and feet. It was almost like they were just tucking them for the night. They did this with each body. They developed a routine, with Glenn taking the head and Jack the feet. They were almost through when Amy started to move.

Glenn stopped tucking the sheet around the head of a young woman and stared toward Andrea. Jack watched as the blond woman put her ear close to Amy's chest, listening. Amy started to move, her eyes opened, and she reached for a teary Andrea. Jack and Glenn both started forward, as did Shane and Rick, but Andrea raised her gun and shot Amy in the head.

* * *

Jack had opted out of the funeral. She had never liked funerals anyway, but she didn't feel like she could be anymore a part of these people's suffering. They needed to grieve, and she needed space from their misery. She also wanted some time with her thoughts. She wasn't sure how she felt about Rick telling everyone about her immunity to Walkers. She hadn't thought to keep it a secret, but she didn't think it was a good idea for him to get their hopes up like that. There was a very real possibility that the CDC would be evacuated, overrun, or just no longer capable of developing a cure. She didn't want to see everyone's hopes dashed against the rocks like that, and she didn't like the position that Rick had put her in. So while everyone else walked up the hill to bury their dead, she walked down into the quarry to wash up and think about her options.

Her clothes and skin were covered in blood, Walker mostly, but also that of the people being placed into the ground. It was starting to dry and itch, so she went through her bags, pulled out some soap and clean clothes, and headed down to the water. She was very careful to fill a bottle with water and scrub the blood off before submerging in the lake. It would be a terrible thing to contaminate such a source of fresh water. Especially since Atlanta didn't have any major rivers or tributaries that ran near it, and they would all need water to survive.

When she was clean enough for a bath, Jack stripped out of her clothes and waded into the cool water. She didn't know how long she'd have, so she hurried and scrubbed off, allowing herself a little extra time to wash her hair. It wasn't very long, just brushing her shoulders, but it was thick and prone to tangles. She had to brush some knots out with her fingers. She considered staying with the group, going with them to the CDC. What if Rick was right? What if they could find a cure using her blood? She couldn't turn a blind eye to a possibility like that.

After she finished she hurried onto land and into some bushes to change. She threw on a pair of jeans, some clean socks and a dark green, V-neck shirt. Her black Chucks were sitting beside the water where she had kicked them off, and besides having a bit of dried blood on them, were still fit to wear.

When she made it back to camp, everyone was assembled around one of the campfire pits, trying to come up with a plan of action since it was obvious that they couldn't remain there any longer. The sun had started to dip in the sky, darkness was approaching from the east. One of the women was starting to assemble dinner, the first meal the group had taken that day.

Jack dropped her soiled clothes with a pile of contaminated things they were going to burn later, and approached the group hesitantly. Lori, Dale and Glenn all nodded at her in welcome, and she fell in behind them, just outside the loose circle.

"I've been thinking about Rick's plan," Shane was saying, addressing the entire group. "Now look, there are no guarantees either way, I'll be the first one to admit that. But I've known this man a long time and I trust his instincts. The most important thing here is we need to stay together. Those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning."

Everyone looked around at each other, and a few people shot glances back at Jack. She wished they wouldn't look to her. Eventually everyone got up and went about their business, setting up for the night again.

Jack went to her bag. The duffel filled with food and water had been added to the camp's stash, but her clothes and toiletries had been left alone. She snatched it up from the ground and looked around for a place to crash. She didn't have a tent or a sleeping bag, so she looked for soft place, maybe in the grass but close enough to the fire to keep warm.

"You can sleep in here, if you want," a voice called to her.

Jack turned and saw Dale looking at her. He gestured to the RV and said, "Have some floor space open and extra blankets. Not comfortable, but it's warm."

She smiled and nodded. "That would be great. Thank you." She hadn't counted on anyone being so nice to her.

He took the bag from her and set it inside the RV. "We have to look after one another. Keep each other safe as best we can if we want to make it. And I don't want to put any pressure on you, but if you really can do what Glenn and Rick said you can, then you might be the hope we've all been waiting for."

Jack rubbed the back of her neck, "I don't know about that. What if it's just a fluke? What if we get to the CDC, find people there, and they can't use me to find a cure?" She looked at the people milling around camp. "What is everyone going to think then?"

"You're a part of our group now, and will be for as long as you chose. Whether anyone can find a cure or not," Dale said generously.

Jack looked into his earnest eyes and nodded. She didn't entirely believe him, still figured there would be a fair amount of bitterness in the group if they discovered that Jack's DNA wasn't going to be their salvation, but she couldn't stand the thought of going back to Atlanta alone. Holing up in dark office buildings and scavenging for food while the dead rose all around her. She needed to be around other people, other _living _people. So she would go with them, to the CDC or Fort Benning, or wherever. She didn't want to be alone anymore.

* * *

In the morning they set out. Morales and his family were the only ones to leave the group, deciding to try and find their family in Birmingham. Jack rode with Glenn, Dale, Jacqui and Jim in the RV. She sat at the table by herself, listening as Jacqui cared for Jim, until they had to stop. The RV overheated.

Everyone pulled to the side of the road and Jack couldn't stand to stay inside with Jacqui and Jim any longer. His anguish was too much for her to listen to anymore. She walked outside and breathed in the warm, moist air, as Rick and Shane discussed their options. There was a gas station down the road, there might be parts there.

Jacqui came running out of the RV then, breathless with panic. "It's Jim. It's bad. I don't think he's going to make it much longer."

Rick followed her into the RV, and Jack walked back toward the others to wait. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, and tried not to look at anyone until Rick came back out and told them all that Jim wanted them to leave him there. Shane was back from his run down to the gas station now, and shook his head. Most of the others opposed the idea too, but Dale spoke up quickly.

"Back at the camp, when I said I agreed with Daryl and you shot me down, you misunderstood," he said. "I would never go along with callously killing a man. But I was just going to suggest we ask Jim what he wants. And I think we have an answer."

"We just leave him here?" Shane asked. "We take off? Man, I'm not sure I can live with that."

"It's not your call," Lori said, addressing both Rick and Shane. "Either of you."

So Rick and Shane went back into the RV and helped pull Jim out. They carried him, as gently as possible, to the woods just off the road and laid him back against a tree. The others all gathered around him except for Jack. She leaned against the side of the RV and watched as they all said their goodbyes to Jim, farewells and admissions of respect, before heading back to the vehicles.

Jack wasn't sure how she felt about this. It seemed cruel somehow, to leave a man to die alone. But in his place, she imagined that maybe she would want the same thing. Maybe it was better to pass on by yourself, more peaceful when you didn't have to worry about how the people around you would react to your death. She couldn't decide if it was noble or cowardly.

They all climbed back into the cars and soon they were driving off, leaving Jim behind as they raced onward to the CDC.

* * *

There you are, chapter 2! Next chapter, the CDC! And expect some one on one interaction between Jack and Daryl, and some of the other characters as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to: ScornedXRose, Zombiepacalypse, Blackhollyyeaah, TheRedBones, IloveDarylDixon, MAR76, heboosh, anonymousbetty, thegoulashqueen, Guest (anonymous), and Plague's Vengeance for the reviews. Also thanks to PurpleClouds13 for your positive PM! You guys inspire me, and I see some repeat reviewers! You guys are the best.

* * *

Chapter Three: Wasteland

* * *

Even with Jack's provisions added to the group's supplies, they ran out of food quickly. After they had left Jim and found some spare parts to fix up Dale's RV, the group had split the last of the food between them for a sparse lunch. Apparently things had gone more poorly than just forgetting someone on a rooftop on their last supply run, but luckily they weren't far from the CDC.

Jack leaned against Glenn's seat and stared out the windshield as the city limits bloomed on the horizon. They weren't going very far in; the CDC was on the outskirts, but everyone became more tense, sending wary looks through the windows at the desolate, trash-strewn streets.

"Is that it?" Jack asked, pointing at gray and blue building that looked as though it had been designed by Frank Gehry. There was a roadblock in front of it, and all over the road and on the grass were felled bodies, more than they could count.

"This doesn't bode well," Dale said, but he pulled the RV to a park just outside the roadblock. His bushy eyebrows were pulled together in apprehension as he surveyed the carnage outside.

"Should we get out?" Glenn asked without enthusiasm.

"I will," Jack said. "I'll take a look around and make sure none of the bodies nearby are still kicking." She opened the door and jumped out. Immediately the smell of rotten, sunbaked bodies hit her nostrils. Despite everything, decay was not a smell that she could grow accustomed to, and Jack nearly gagged before she could slap a hand over her nose.

Flies buzzed everywhere, filling the air with the steady thrum of their wings. Jack took this as a good sign. It meant the bodies were truly dead. The flies were congregating to mate, lay eggs in the dead flesh, and feast, which was harder to do on bodies that still moved. Just to be sure, Jack kicked at one of the corpses near the blockade. The skin burst open where her foot had made contact and out poured a stream of wiggling white maggots. Jack couldn't hold back the gag this time, but she did turn and give Dale and Glenn a thumbs up.

Soon everyone had parked and filed out of the vehicles. Rick and Shane moved to the head of the group, leading with their guns and ushering the others forward. Everyone except Daryl covered their mouths and noses against the stench as they stepped around the numerous bodies and headed for the building that they had placed all of their hopes in. The CDC.

"Stay quiet," Shane was saying to them. "Keep close!"

Jack ambled toward the back of the group, weaponless but unworried. None of the bodies on the ground moved at all, and she was far more worried about the possibility that they would find people inside the CDC that weren't interested in helping them. Jack thought she was pretty lucky to find this group of people who, despite some major personality clashes, genuinely seemed to care about keeping each other alive. It was a miracle, one that she did not expect to encounter twice. What if the CDC was controlled by people who would only be interested in taking what little they still had and then killing them? Or worse?

Maybe she was just being pessimistic. Jack had always had trouble trusting people, especially men, the result of having a daddy like hers…but she couldn't ignore the feeling in her gut that told her something wasn't right about this place. It wasn't just the countless bodies outside, it was something else. An intuition.

"Come on," Rick stage whispered. "Almost there."

They passed a tank, an army Humvee, and even more road blockades. Someone had tried to protect this place, and had probably held out much longer than other places. But eventually death had won out. At least outside the building. There was no way to gauge the damage—if any—inside. The windows were all intact and completely reflective. Nothing from the interior could be seen from the exterior. If all was well inside, then this would be a great benefit in the long run.

They approached the doors slowly, but they were locked down. Jack stared at the metal rolling doors and couldn't decide if she felt relief or hopelessness. Perhaps both.

"There's nobody here," Shane said, trying to lift one of the metal doors.

"Then why are the shutters down?" Rick asked.

Suddenly Daryl yelled, "Walker!"

Everyone turned to see a corpse in military regalia shambling toward them. Carol, the shorthaired woman Jack had saved that first night in camp, pulled her daughter Sophia to her chest and let out a little shriek. Lori clutched onto Carl. Jacqui took hold of the back of T-Dog's shirt. Even Andrea took a step closer to Dale. Jack looked to Daryl, who was the closest person to her, but figured it would be a bad idea to go all girly on him. She couldn't imagine he would tolerate her hanging hysterically off of him. And besides, it wasn't as if _her _personal safety was at risk there.

Daryl swiftly took the Walker down with an arrow to the forehead. He turned around and stormed toward Rick, pointing his crossbow accusingly at the other man. "He led us to a graveyard!"

"He made a call," Shane said, coming forward to intervene.

"It was the wrong damn call," Daryl yelled angrily.

"Shut up," Shane said, pushing Daryl back. "You hear me? Shut up! Shut up!" He turned back to Rick and said, "This is a dead end."

"Where are we going to go?" Carol wailed, and Sophia clung more tightly to her mother. The sight of the little girl shaking with fear and desperation made a hard knot form in Jack's throat. She wished she could do something, say something, that might help.

"No blame," Shane said to Rick.

"She's right," Lori said, indicating Carol. "We can't be this close to the city after dark." Carl was holding on to his mom, his lip trembling as he tried to fight his own fear.

"Fort Benning, Rick. Still an option," Shane suggested.

"On what?" Andrea said. "No food, no fuel. That's a hundred miles."

"We'd have to make a run first," Glenn said.

"Forget Fort Benning," Lori said. "We need answers now!"

"We'll think of something," Rick tried to supplicate her, but from the look on Lori's face it wasn't working.

"Get out of here," Shane said, moving everyone back, away from the doors. They all started running back toward the cars. Jack jogged beside Glenn and Andrea, but she looked back to see Rick still standing near the doors. He was staring up at the cameras, frozen.

"The camera, it moved!" Rick yelled.

Everyone paused. Dale shook his head and said, "You imagined it."

"It moved," Rick said again. He ran up to the door, looked directly into the camera. Shane tried to pull him away, tried to reason with him, but Rick wasn't having it. Rick broke away from Shane and banged his fist against the metal shutter. He looked directly into the camera and screamed, "I know you're in there. I know you can hear me!"

Everyone flew into chaotic action. Walkers were ambling at them from different directions now. Panic was spreading through the group. Jack looked between the Walkers and Rick, wishing she had any sort of combat skills. If she could fight like T-Dog or Daryl, then she would be much more of an asset to this group. What could she do? Walk around with the undead? Jump on their backs and take a piggyback ride? Sure she had killed one, by beating it over the head, but that wasn't exactly the most efficient way to go about it. If she could shoot, things would be different.

"Please," Rick yelled, "we're desperate! Please help us! We have women, children. No food. Hardly any gas left. No where else to go." Lori was trying to push her husband back, trying to get them to safety. More Walkers were flooding the lawn, drawn by the commotion. Shane finally pulled Rick away, dragging him by the shoulders. Rick kept yelling. "You're killing us! Please! You're killing us!"

Suddenly the metal shutter lifted and light flooded out, so bright it was nearly blinding. Everyone paused, too shocked to move for a moment. And then the moans, the shuffling of broken, dead feet hit their ears again and the group surged forward.

* * *

The inside of the building was clean, almost unnaturally so. It was completely devoid of the trash, broken furniture and glass that Jack was used to seeing since the world had ended. She wasn't sure if it was this strange neatness juxtaposed to the death and destruction just outside the doors, or the overwhelming silence inside that disturbed her the most.

"Hello," someone yelled from the other side of the lobby. Everyone turned to the voice, weapons raised, cautious. "Anybody infected?" The voice asked. Jack stepped out from behind T-Dog and saw the man in the corner of the room, training his own rifle on them. He looked wild-eyed and suspicious, and she couldn't blame him.

"One of our group was," Rick called out. "He didn't make it."

"Why are you here? What do you want?" The man asked.

Rick looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Jack. "A chance."

"That's asking an awful lot these days." The man walked closer toward them and Jack took him in. He was probably in his forties, with a slight paunch (a rarity in the apocalypse) and fluffy hair that looked like the fuzzy side of Velcro. His face was craggy, but there was something sad and earnest about his eyes.

"I know," Rick agreed. There wasn't much else to say to that.

The man looked over the group, his eyes skimming over the children, the terrified women. "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission."

"Fair enough," Jack said, rubbing the back of her neck.

"We can do that," Rick nodded.

The man lowered his gun. "You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes," he pointed to the entrance, "it stays closed."

Glenn, Daryl and Jack ran back to the vehicles to gather their things. Jack grabbed Andrea and Dale's bags, and rooted through her own for some fresh clothes. She didn't feel like lugging the whole duffel inside, so she left it in the RV after she had pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a soft gray t-shirt. All she had were clothes and toiletries anyway, and the clothes left in the bag were actually too baggy for her. She would make do without and hope that she could find some spare fabric and perhaps a sewing machine inside. Or maybe just some scrubs.

After they jogged back into the building the man spoke into an intercom, telling someone named Vi to seal the main entrance. The shutter slammed closed behind them, locking them inside the building. Jack felt a tremor roll up her spine. She hated feeling trapped. She handed Andrea and Dale their things and slung her clothes over her shoulder.

Rick approached the man and held out his hand. "Rick Grimes," he introduced himself.

The man looked at him warily and said, "Dr. Edwin Jenner." He didn't take Rick's hand, but instead led them all to an elevator. They squeezed inside, and Jack found herself sandwiched between Glenn and Daryl in a corner. She tried not to fidget and bump one of them. Glenn would probably be okay, but she was a little afraid that Daryl would pull her into a headlock if she so much breathed on him. Besides, Jack wasn't one for excessive amounts of touching. Or confined spaces.

"Doctors always go around packing heat like that?" Daryl asked, nodding at Jenner's gun.

"Well, there were plenty left lying around, I familiarized myself," Jenner said. He appraised the group. "But you look harmless enough. Except you. I'll have to keep an eye on you," he nodded at Carl, who grinned a little bit.

The elevator dipped and dinged and the doors opened. Jenner led them out into a concrete hallway lined with caged lights. It was cool, but dank, like a basement.

"Are we underground," Carol asked.

"You claustrophobic?" Jenner asked.

"A little," Carol admitted. Jack was too, but she didn't say anything.

"Try not to think about it," Jenner said, which might have been the least helpful advice ever.

"Great, thank you," Jack muttered under her breath. She didn't think anyone had heard her, but then she felt someone nudge her shoulder and looked over to see Glenn grinning at her. She smiled back, sharing in his levity.

The hallway ended at a room. It was a giant, circular room, and this is where Jenner led them. "Vi, bring up the lights in the big room." Suddenly there was the click of electricity and the room was thrown into fluorescent lamination. There were work stations arranged in circular shapes, computers, electronic scanners and imaging machines, all clumped together on a large stage in the middle of the room. Jenner turned to them all and said, "Welcome to zone five."

They all walked into the room slowly, staring at the empty work stations. "Where is everybody," Rick asked. "The other doctors? The staff?"

Jenner led them to the stage and the desks. "I'm it," he said, without emotion or inflection. "It's just me here."

"What about the person you were speaking with?" Lori asked. "Vi?"

The look on Jenner's face was pure bemusement. "Vi, say hello to our guests. Tell them welcome."

A robotic voice came through speakers set into the ceiling. "Hello guests. Welcome."

Everyone looked around incredulously. Startled. Disappointed. Confused. "I'm all that's left," Jenner said. "I'm sorry."

* * *

Jenner didn't want to wait on the blood tests. He set up a table with individual blood vials for each of them. Just before Jack stepped up for her turn, Rick placed a hand on her shoulder, halting her. He turned to Jenner, who was watching them with curiosity and suspicion.

"There's something I think we should tell you, before you take her blood," Rick said.

"Has she been infected?" Jenner asked. "Bitten or scratched?"

"Bitten," Jack answered, and showed him the scar on her arm. His eyes widened as he looked at the red mark. "But not turned."

Jenner rose and came toward her. He took her arm gingerly into his hands and turned it beneath the light. "Bitten? By an infected person?" At her nod he said, "And not turned. Amazing."

"It's more than that," Rick said. Jenner looked up at him quickly. "Since she's been bit, they don't come after her. The Walkers don't even notice her, not the way they do the rest of us."

Jenner stared at Jack with something like awe and disbelief. "Is this true? They don't try and attack you?"

Jack shrugged. She felt really uncomfortable being under everyone's scrutiny like this, again. Jenner grabbed one of the empty blood vials and looked at her veins like Christmas had come early.

"Can you analyze it, her blood? Can you identify what makes her different, immune? Maybe use it make a cure?" Lori asked hopefully.

Jenner looked at the others hesitantly. "I will certainly analyze it," he said. That seemed to be enough for the others, but Jack felt her stomach sink. She could see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. Jenner didn't have the resources available to create a cure. He could maybe explain what caused her immunity, but that would be the extent of his helpfulness.

Jack shook her head. She didn't want to be pessimistic. Maybe she was misreading Jenner's expression, the words he _wasn't _saying. Maybe there was hope.

She let him fill the vial and then moved away quickly, ignoring the way he set her blood apart from the others. She took a seat and waited for Jenner to finish with the others. Andrea was up next.

"What's the point," Andrea asked, when Jenner was pulling the vial away from the crease in her elbow. "If we were infected, we would all be running a fever."

Jenner looked at her sharply and said, "I'll already broken every rule in the book letting you in here. Let me just be thorough. All done."

Andre stood, but wobbled a moment. Jacqui was quick to her side, steadying her. The blond woman looked as though she might pass out.

"You okay?" Jenner asked.

"She hasn't eaten," Jacqui said. "None of us have."

Jenner looked shocked at this. His eyes traveled over the groupcontemplatively. He had finished drawing their blood and gathered it all up. "Wait here a moment," he said, and disappeared back into the hallway.

Everyone looked around at each other. Glenn said, "Is it just me, or did Jenner look like he wanted to make-out with Jack's blood?"

"Eww," Carl said.

A few people smiled and chuckled. T-Dog laughed and clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Baby girl, if you end up being the cure to all this, I'm gonna kiss you myself."

She tried to grin, but it felt rictus, and came out as more of a pained grimace. She hated the hopeful looks they were all giving her. All except for Daryl. He was standing in the corner, biting on the skin around his fingernails. He didn't seem at all interested in the conversation around him.

Jenner shuffled back into the room and motioned the group to follow him. He led them down another hallway to a large break room. "There's plenty of food," he said. "And spirits."

And that was enough to drop their barriers. The group made use of the building's kitchen, whipping up the finest dinner they'd had in weeks. They raided the store of alcohol, bringing forth bottles of wine, vodka, and whiskey. There was even soda for the kids.

They pushed together some folding tables and plunked down for a civilized meal together. Passing around drinks and socializing for the first time in so long without the worry of Walkers interrupting them.

Dale poured wine into glasses and began to distribute them around. He offered one to Jack, but she declined. She had found grape soda—her favorite—in the kitchen. Besides, she didn't have a stomach for alcohol. She had tried it in high school, but she didn't like the sensation of being drunk or buzzed. She didn't like putting herself into a situation where she could be manipulated, used. She liked to have full control of her mental faculties. She'd learned that lesson the hard way. It was better to be in a right state of mind. Always. Especially after her experience with the brain tumor and all the meds she had been on. She'd had enough experience with mind-altering products.

Carl asked his mother if he could try some wine, and Dale said, "In Italy children have wine with dinner. And France."

Lori covered Carl's cup and said, "Well, when Carl is in Italy or France, then he can have some."

"C'mon," Rick said, smiling at his wife in a way that made Jack think he could probably charm his way into anything with Lori, "What's it gonna hurt?"

Lori shrugged, smiling, and lifted her hand. "Okay."

Dale poured some red wine into the glass and handed it to Carl. "Here you are, young lad."

Carl took the glass and slugged some down. Everyone watched for his reaction and no one was disappointed. His face scrunched up and he said, "Eww." Everyone burst into laughter, even Jack.

She leaned back in her seat and sipped on her soda. She was sitting between T-Dog and Shane and could smell the alcohol from both of their cups. It was worse when Daryl crossed behind her. He was carrying an open bottle of whiskey and the scent seemed to punch Jack in the throat.

"Stick to soda, buddy," Shane was telling Carl.

"Not you Glenn," Daryl said.

Glenn looked up. He was already buzzed, his eyes gleaming bright beneath the bill of his cap. "What?"

"Keep drinking, little man," Daryl said. He came up on Shane's other side and poured a shot. "I wanna see how red your face can get."

It was the closest to friendly teasing that Jack had heard from him so far, and it interested her. Everyone laughed and Glenn nodded his head good-naturedly, but Jack watched Daryl. There was something about him that had captivated her from the moment she had stepped out onto the rooftop in Atlanta. He was coarse and unfriendly. Volatile and unpredictable. But he kept doing odd little things that completely surprised her. Like the respectful nod he had given Jim before they left him on the side of the road. Or the way that he had stuck with them to save Glenn from the Vatos, despite his objections. There was nothing soft about Daryl Dixon, but there was something contradictory about him. Something that left Jack guessing. She didn't trust him, but she was intrigued by him.

Rick tapped a fork to his glass and rose. Everyone quieted as he gestured to Jenner and said, "It seems to me that we haven't thanked our host properly."

"He is more than just our host," T-Dog said, lifting his glass. Everyone followed suit with a, "Here, here!"

Daryl lifted an entire bottle of whiskey and said, "Booyah!" Several others echoed it around the table. Jack inclined her head at Jenner and gulped down some more soda. It didn't matter that it was warm, it was the best thing she had had in weeks.

"Thank you," Rick said to Jenner.

Jenner lifted his glass in return, but looked uncomfortable.

"So when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc?" Shane said, and immediately the joviality at the table seemed to be sucked into a vacuum of seriousness. "All the other doctors who were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?"

"We're celebrating, Shane," Rick chastised. "No need to do this now."

"Wait a second, this is why we're here, right?" Shane asked. He looked at Rick. "This was your move. Supposed to find all the answers. Instead, we found him," he indicated Jenner. "We found one man. Why?"

"Well," Jenner said, "when things got bad a lot of people left to be with their loved ones. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted."

"Every last one," Shane asked, skeptically.

"No, many couldn't face walking out the door. They opted out," Jenner said. "There was a rash of suicides. That was a bad time."

"You didn't leave," Andrea said. "Why?"

"I just kept working," Jenner answered. "Hoping to do some good." His eyes glanced over to Jack, the expression in them wistful.

"Dude," Glenn said, hoping down from the counter he had been perched on. He looked at Shane with disdain. "You are such a buzz kill."

* * *

Jenner took them into a part of the building where the doctors' offices had been. He explained that there was limited electricity, couches to sleep on, blankets, a rec room with things to entertain themselves with. But best of all, there were showers with hot water.

Jack didn't waste time exploring any of the other rooms. She shut herself into one of the bathrooms, stripped off her clothes and cranked on the water. It turned hot almost immediately and she could have cried at the sensation of it hitting her skin. She jumped in, letting it pour over her body, knead into her back. In this moment she could almost forget everything she had been through in the past few weeks. She could almost forget the bodies rotting just outside the building. This was a piece of normal life. How had she ever taken this for granted before?

There was body wash, shampoo, and conditioner in pump dispensers on the wall. They smelled like the stuff hotels gave out, floral dish soap or potpourri, but she didn't care. She scrubbed her skin, and basked in the warmth.

When she finished, Jack stepped out of the shower and wiped the steam off the mirror. Her reflection was all pink skin and glowing contentment. It had been a long time since she had seen herself, and she took a moment to examine her features. She looked the same in a lot of ways. Same wavy brown hair, same dark gray eyes, same arched brows and slightly uneven mouth. The biggest difference was in her body. Her frailty. She looked at the shadow of her ribcage, her concave belly and sharp hipbones. Her breasts were much smaller, and she placed her hands over them, wondering idly if she would ever be a C-cup again. Probably not.

Jack sighed and slipped her clean clothes on. She grabbed up her dirty jeans and shirt and tossed them into the sink with the intention of hand washing them later. Now, however, she was going to go down to the kitchen, find another grape soda, and then hit up the rec room for some entertainment. She hoped there would be books. She loved the novels she had stowed away on Dale's RV, but she would love something new.

She passed Dale and Rick in the hallway and nodded to them. She was beginning to grow more comfortable, even fond of the others. Especially Glenn and Dale. She had spent a lot of time alone with them in RV today, and she could feel a bond quickly forming with them. Dale was like the father figure she had never had. Her own dad had been an emotionally detached workaholic with an alcohol dependency. She had rarely seen him, and had always wished for a closer relationship, someone to share her problems with, someone who would look at her with twinkling eyes and offer up advice and words of comfort. She could see those things in Dale already, and she cherished it.

Glenn, though close to her in age, was like the little brother she never had. Cheeky and sincere, he was just so vibrant and _alive_. He made Jack want to believe that there was hope for all of them. That they had a future. That Carl and Sophia might be able to grow up, despite the many ways in which the world had crumbled down around them. She couldn't put her finger on it, but Glenn made her hope.

She followed the hallway back to the kitchen. The lights had been turned off to preserve electricity, so she used the dim glow of the emergency lights to find her way through the industrial kitchen to the pantry. She had almost made it when a shadow leapt out into her path.

Jack couldn't help it, she shrieked and fell back. Her hip banged hard against the metal sink and her feet slipped out from under her. She would have fallen down if not for the hand that grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly upright.

The hand wrapped completely around her shoulder, fingers digging into her armpit. It was a strong grip, painful, and she knew she would have a nice finger-shaped bruise to match the one blooming on her hip. She frantically tried to claw the hand off of her, but her fingers were bitten short (a nasty habit of hers).

"What's wrong wit' you? Screamin' like that," Daryl's voice hissed out, annoyed, and he released her as violently as he had grabbed her. She stumbled back a few steps and rubbed her shoulder.

"Daryl, you scared the crap out of me," she accused. "What are you doing lurking around in the dark?"

"I ain't lurkin'," he said, and then waved something in front of her face. She heard a sloshing sound and realized he had raided the alcohol stash again. The sharp stench of whiskey hit her nostrils and she pushed the bottle out of her face.

"Gross."

Daryl shook his head. "This is the good shit. What, you too uppity to drink?"

"Had a bad experience with alcohol," Jack said, trying not to let his condescending tone get to her. She scooted around him and opened the pantry. She flipped the interior light switch on. The bulb inside cast a bluish glow across the kitchen. She could see Daryl leaning against the counter. Shadows played over his body, and she noticed for the first time just how muscular his arms were. How had that escaped her attention before?

"You jus' gonna stand there and stare at the fuckin' light? Like a bug?"

Oh right. She had been too distracted by his foul, offensive mouth. She snatched the six-pack of grape sodas from the shelf and turned the light back off. She moved to leave the kitchen, but paused and turned to face Daryl. "Daryl?"

"What?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Are you gonna even if I say no?"

"Yes."

Daryl took an audible swig from the bottle. "What d'ya want?"

"Why a crossbow?"

"_What_?"

"Why do you carry a crossbow? I mean," she felt stupid, suddenly, for even asking this, but couldn't make herself shut up and walk away, "I know it's quieter than a gun. But isn't it tedious? Having to pull it taut? It doesn't exactly have the easiest ammo to load. Wouldn't a gun be simpler? Or, I don't know, a machete?"

Daryl snorted. "You don't know nothin', do you?"

Jack sighed. This had been a mistake. She started to turn back around and walk out, but Daryl's voice stopped her.

"I use it to hunt. Always have."

Jack nodded. That made sense, she supposed. She had grown up in Texas, surrounded by hunting enthusiasts. She had known boys from school who swore by the crossbow for hunting wild boar. Made it more of a sport, they said. More of a challenge. Somehow, though, she didn't think Daryl hunted for the fun of it. She thought he had probably taken to hunting as a necessity, a means for survival. He didn't seem like the sort of person to go thrill-seeking, there was just something too serious about him.

She started to leave again, but was once again stopped by Daryl's voice.

"Hey," he said. "I gotta question for you."

"Yeah?"

"You'll answer honest?"

"That depends," she said.

"On what?"

"On how uncomfortable your question makes me," she shrugged.

"What kind of bad experience did you have drinkin'?" His voice was as callous as ever, but there was something gentle and curious to the words. He sounded genuinely interested.

Jack hesitated. She didn't talk about this memory very often, rarely even thought about it. It was one of those life lessons, one of those things that could have gone very badly for her. "When I was in high school I got really drunk at a party. I passed out and woke up to this guy trying to take my clothes off. He and his friends were going to take advantage of me, but when I started yelling and fighting back someone heard and came to help me." Daryl had gone eerily quiet and still, so Jack went on. "I don't drink because I don't want to lose control. I don't want to be caught in a situation like that again. There might not be someone to help me like that."

Daryl took another drink but didn't say anything more, so Jack left. She wasn't sure why she had told him that story, summarized though it was. It's not like they were friends. It's not like he cared about her life. Maybe she was just tired and the filter between her brain and mouth had stopped working.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she made her way to the rec room. She would look for a book and then settle into a room to read and mull over her embarrassing admission to Daryl. _Daryl_! Of all people!

Jack opened the door to the rec room and heard the sound of a struggle. She looked up to see Lori pushed up against a pinball machine and Shane trying to kiss her, trying to dip his fingers into her shorts. Before Jack could intervene, Lori scratched the side of Shane's face and he backed off with a hiss of pain.

Lori looked up and spotted Jack and all the blood seemed to drain out of the older woman's face. Shane spun around quickly, his eyes taking in Jack standing in the doorway with a six-pack of sodas tucked under her arm.

Shane looked lost for words. He had just been caught in a very compromising situation, and from Lori's silent sobs, it looked very bad indeed. He opened his mouth to explain himself, but then snapped it closed. He shot an angry look between Lori and Jack and then stormed out of the room, slamming the door to the rec room behind him.

Jack shuffled her feet, uncomfortable being alone with Lori after what she had just walked in on. "Are you okay?"

Lori had a hand over her mouth and was staring at the carpet with wide, wet eyes. She nodded and said, "It…it isn't what you think, Jack."

"I don't think anything," Jack said quickly. "And even if I did, I wouldn't say anything to anyone else."

"That's really good of you," Lori said.

"No, I just don't like conflict," Jack said. She motioned to the bookcase. "If you're alright, I'm just going to grab a book, and, uh, disappear."

Lori nodded and smiled despite herself. "Go ahead."

Jack went to inspect the book titles and heard Lori leave the room behind her. She breathed out in relief. It had been an eventful day, and she was ready for some alone time. Her fingers skimmed over the book spines until she found one that looked promising. She snagged it and walked back to her room, glad when she didn't encounter anyone in the hall. She locked herself in the room for the night, thankful for the space, the privacy, and the normalcy of it all. It was like a piece of the past, and she wished it could last forever.

* * *

There you are, chapter 3. Little Daryl interaction there. Pretty soon we're going to see some of his perspective, especially as we move into season 2 territory. Please review.


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